Day 25 (84): Your Quiet Place


To my Favorite Sushi Chef,
My mouth is tiny. Ok, that was a lie. My mouth is as large as a Mack truck. Your fucking rolls are still too big for me to eat sometimes. My cheeks should not look like I am a hamster storing. So I am speaking up for the little mouthed women on dates looking like an ass because of you. Stop chopping the rolls like we are all Linda Lovelace.
 Oh, and your head scarf doesn't match your happari. Do something about that my man. It would also be less creepy if you acknowledged my smile. I see you more than my mother.
Best Regards,
the wood rabbit

To my Favorite Egyptian Store Clerk,
I do not want to date you. Wooing me will never consist of giving me free fountain drinks. Maybe gas, but I never see you offer that shit up. Did you know I was 34? I am. None of my friends would ever want to work as a cashier here. They all stopped working in fast food joints and as dishwashers after college. I also think you should stop charging me different prices for the same item every time I come to your store. If crackers are $3.99 on Monday, inflation does not dictate they are $4.99 on Wednesday. You can still call me pretty though.
Best Regards,
the wood rabbit

To my Favorite Living Space,
It would be super cool if you learned how to clean yourself. I am not trying to coerce you in any sort of way; I understand the inanimate problem here. Im just sayin is all. We can overcome this together. It would be awesome times a panda.
I will be watching,
the wood rabbit

To my Favorite Kittencat,
You are a few short hops from going into Detox little miss. No more catnip for you. I will help you through the withdrawals, just retract the claws. Glass cannot be run through, lets stop banging our head into the door my love. I do dig on your back flips though. Practice that shit up circus cat, we can go on the road.
If you knock one more thing down off the table/mantle/dresser/nightstand/counter while looking directly at me and talking in your cute as fuck kittencat way I just may punch you in the head. Stop using my makeup brushes. Stay off the keyboard. 3am is not playtime. Meowing will not always get you your own way. Try and not scare guests by running Mach 5 across them. One last thing: Do not pounce me while I am masturbating. Not fucking cool. Not at all.
I fucking love you kitten,
the wood rabbit


Day 17 (76): Wealth

sedative, please.

All right. I have a deal. If you get to tell me what I get to do with my uterus, then I get to tell you what to do with yours.
Sound good?
Awesome, because if you get to take away my right to have an abortion (which you won't but I will humor you for the few seconds it will take me to puke this thought out), I want to institute some Birthing Laws that prevent just any one from bringing children into this world without a clue of how or the finances in which to raise them. Without prior psychological examination, parenting classes and a full background/criminal/financial check, NO ONE should ever be allowed to simply "have" a kid yet we don't discuss this when we are talking about the Right to Life; which should be renamed the Right to a Good Life because let's face it, there are children in this country starving, without medical care and with families who are neglectful and full of hate, passing far more than genes to the next generation.
And we aren't going to fill up the newly created Department of Uterine Embellishment with just any old midwestern idealist. This is not a covert ops/under the table federally funded Church of the Jesus and Mary acting as Public Servant X We Swear We Won't Talk About God but We Will Pick and Choose Who We Shall Help and Redefine Rules for The Masses According to our Narrow Views Organization, ooooooh noooooo. We will have Atheists, Buddhists, construction workers, lawyers, fast food clerks AND stay at home moms all represented and voting on this little golden cherub ticket. Slow infiltration of the group, whether publicly professed (thanks Texas Board of Education for redefining Douchebaggery) or not, will be met with a Queen of Hearts kind of approach; stairs lined with heads, whispers from the blackened halls carrying on the wind... the horror. The horror. The horror.

Fuck that.
How about we just agree to leave each other alone and mind our own damn business?
I do it every Sunday when I see you line your byproducts up for moral lessons given by a church who collectively has, in the last 30 years of recent history, sexually abused enough children to qualify as the International University of Pedophilia. We will leave their 1,900 prior years of well documented corruption, manipulation and above the law accountability out of it.
Oh, right. You don't prescribe to the Papacy's monthly newsletter. Let me clue you in... The Washington Post and The New York Times are both newspapers, steak and oranges are both considered food, a river and ocean both bodies of water. If you cannot therefore see the simple analogy presented before you....
Dear Applicant, We regret to inform you, that you have failed conclusively and can resubmit your application for birthing in another 6 months.
Request: DENIED.

Happy St Patricks Day


Day 11 (70): Begins with Fa (fake)

Found: Me too, kid.

she's made of wood. burn her.

Corona Tangle
Charcoal Brickets Light up
Fuck your eyebrows, bitch

Weeds suck. In the spring and summer, if you do not beat them back regularly with bad taste and foul language, soon your house will be over taken, and you are left screaming like a little bitch in the closet hoping your mom shows up. I don’t WANT to live in the Shire. Nope. My feet are WAY too cute for that nonsense.

There are instances where I think myself into believing I have done something I have not really done. This happens more than I will admit to. Ever.

When no lighter or match can be found, one must choose: Ghetto or Hag. Ghetto lights off the stove/toaster/waffle iron/grill/blow torch. Hag lights one cigarette right after the other, kind of like the Olympic torch – the fire shall never go out.

Metal Fire God
Tripping the grill fantastic
Blackened lines of love

So strong is my desire to clean the pool, I am salivating chlorine.
The patio must be prepared. The umbrella raised. The tiki torches lit. Steak... you are mine for the marinating.
It is time.


Day 10 (69): Begins with Me (meat)

To the question: Would you like to meet the band? The answer is always: No.

I do not understand obsessions with celebrities. When I hear that one has passed away, I think... uh, never mind, I don't think actually; I don't care. But someone, somewhere, absofreakinglutely does; we worship the God of Television. There is discussion. There is mourning. Retrospectives. Hour long Specials with other famous friends sharing intimate details of a life tragically lost. Live coverage of saddened candlelight vigils and endless amounts of flower bouquets and cards declaring "We Will Miss You" even though "we" never knew you at all.
There is no identifying with anyone famous for whatsoever reason going on here. Why? Come on, one doesn't really know a person from what is seen on TV/screen, heard on the radio, read in newspapers/magazines. If they are roaming about the city and I happen to notice them (which I wouldn't, I am a very oblivious wanderer) or bump into them (in which case I would apologize and move forward quickly, just like if I tripped over a homeless man), who cares. Do I need an autograph or picture? No. Do I need to tell them how great they were in Sequel Movie 3 or how awesome I think their music is? No. I have far less in common with any random famous person than I do the average stranger. For me, having a conversation with 99.9% of the population is laborious, so unless someone famous (or infamous for that matter) decides to personally impact my life (as I would not try to impact theirs, I am sort of a private kinda girl, keep to myself, nothing to see here), I have no emotional tie, therefore it is far more tragic that I burned my toast or can't find the keys to my car.
People die. Every day.
And you know what, I don't care about them either.


Day 9 (68): Begins with Re (reds)

Afrin is my God.

WHOA, slacker chick hasn't posted a thought in days (OH MY!).
I just got hit with the sickness. Sick + tired.
Also, a bus.
Just kidding, that's not funny, liarhead.
Lies. Its all lies and Satan; what are you going to do. Move forward, bunny.

So, I am told I don't really get sick, my inner demons just get all unruly and irritated-like. And frankly, that's fine with me as long as they let me breathe. Its the only thing I cannot stand: not being able to get air through both nostrils in the same manner and flow at the same damn time. It is all consuming, actually. I will travel to the store at 3am if need be. I would ignore the spontaneous combustion of my partner in bed next to me. They could drop the bomb and I wouldn't care.

I have no fresh water cultured pearls of wisdom to impart today.
I just wanna breathe and until that happens, fuck all.

Found: Refrigerator Magnets. Not only useful for toddlers but adults too!

of course you can.

Lou Reed: The Gun


Day 4 (63): Tie

todays word is WHATTHEFUCKEVER.

I make you believe I'm a sucker so that when I spit it is more impactful.

Given the right setting, I can be convinced to pretty much do anything; even fuck a corpse. I think. Well, let's just say, I will allow for the possibility of such a scenario taking place, in some other worldly dimension. I am in no way a necrophiliac I am just saying that there may come a time when I am hanging out with a corpse and my girly parts get tingly and maybe the corpse is dressed like a clown and so, I think, wow, I have never fucked a clown before, so I fuck the clown and ALSO the corpse. Its kinda like I got tricked into it, you could say. You COULD say that, you know.

Jaw Breakers should just break your jaw. Then you wouldn't fuck around thinking you're a badass eating them, would you.


Day 3 (62): Hat

Pear and Pomegranate: Paranoia.

Hypocritical Circular Nonsensical Example X. For your personal amusement.

I get very weird feelings when I am around certain people. Hm. Most people I am actually uncomfortable around, let us amend that first sentence, but some other people, uncomfortable equates to undiluted nauseousness. Their presence in a room full of my best friends will cause me to close-up tighter than a Wall Street CEO's asshole no matter what I do (once again, hindsight, and I apologize for the visual - hindsight, ha, that was also pretty funny, never you mind that though). Can you guess as to what these people's commonality might be? Answer: Arrogant, belittling judgment of others but more specifically, arrogant, belittling judgment of me.
Told you I was a hypocrite. Sometimes it is not so much fun knowing who you are but at least the neighborhood isn't as scary even if the road is completely foreign and there is a dog hanging out on the corner. Waiting. In the dark.
Now, to be realistic, I know that the they's are probably not judging me. I mean, I KNOW THIS, really I do, especially since some of these "people" do not even know me, ha HA (!) and therein lies the nonsensical portion of our presentation. Nothing has had to happen between us, no drama, no history, no nuthin' - but do to circumstances beyond our control this station is temporarily radio silent. For the ones I do know, I am positive (300%) I do not register on their radar at all, ever, no passing thought granted towards my being (365/12/52/7/24/60) yet once I put someone IN that category, known or not known, they don't come out, no matter how hard I try or work-around coping mechanism I attempt to construct.
More than the average confessional incense bear, I realize I am only a grain of sand among many other grains of sand, none of these grains of sand any different from the other grains, really. Really. When at the beach, in someone's mouth, ALL sand is gritty and disgusting in the same damn way. I accept.

My brain matter is fighting itself with my brain matter; my brain matter in the stands ready to kick the loosing brain matter and brain matter fans asses just as soon as the brain matter trying to keep order is overcome by more brain matter, rendering this arena of foolishness, a big ol' non-functioning fucktard mess of unorganized schizophrenic brain matter. Check please, and can I get this 1/2 & 1/2 tea in a ToGo cup, thanks.
Sigh, little bunny.
pH (Panic, Hide) factor 11. You see right there, it goes to 11. ELEVEN.

I really need to call the dentist.
Next week.


Day 2 (61): Shoes

three different ones

Ain't no party like a platypus party cause a platypus party don't stop!
Unless you invite tigers.

There is this Help for the Homeless type place that I pass on the way to work everyday. Their outside sign uses the same font Chick Fil-A does on those cow billboards that say "Eat More Chickn". Because of the letter style, I keep imagining this building run by homeless people that chops up and serves donating good samaritans as meat. Which would taste of ham or bacon, according to the trusted source who informed me that people resemble pigs in that regard.
I am almost looking forward to running out of food and resorting to cannibalism.

You can take the girl out of an alligator, but you cant take an alligator out of the girl.
The stomach cavity just doesn't compare.


Day 1 (60): T-Shirt

For the month of March every year I take a photo a day with friends based on predetermined themes. Since this coincides with Project 365 this year, in the title, I will post the March date first and the other count in parenthesis.
For that portion of my brain where only Chupacabras dwell. Amen.

Found: I heart you too.

Day 060: Mr. Anderson

Magic Teeth Dots

Irrational Fear 37 (I hate starting at 1 because it feels like I HAVE to give you a 2. This way - I am obligated to nothing but the number 37 and won’t sweat leaping out of bed at 3am so there is no retarded small talk in the morning): Cracking my front teeth, specifically, when I am showering and slip. More specifically, on that tiny little drain thing in the bathtub you switch up in order to close off the drain and take a bath. Every time I get into a shower with this feature, I growl in its direction and we make a silent pact. I will not destroy you bathtub (because you cannot run away from me, oh inanimate object) if you promise not to crack my teeth while we share this space. Tiny understandings make my world go round you see.

Irrational Fear 45 (by skipping around the numerical scale, I am still released from the obligation of sharing those numbers before or after 45 or from 37 to 45, but since I have now posted two separate fears, logic and rational dictates I must at least post a third, because it is my rule. Don’t make me break it across your ass for fun): I will one day run over a small child with my car because they have appeared out of nowhere and I do not have time to brake. By appear out of nowhere, I do not imply I do not see them prior, as in, “Johnny was a fucktard, ran into the street and then I hit him”. NO. This is not my fear because I am an insanely aware driver at all times. Clarification: Ever seen a magic show and the guy in the black hat says “AlakaBAM!” and then Poof, a white bunny appears? Yeah, just like that is what I fear. Some random kid is magic-ed right in front of my bumper and two hours later I am bumming cigarettes off some butch chick in jail thinking, “At least I am still going to get laid, this ain’t so bad.”

Irrational Fear 6 (One could have assumed, since 45 is a larger number that 37, I would have kept with the scale and moved up again. Wrong. Since this is the third fear I am sharing, I must move down so that it 1. Completes the trinity 2. Jerks said assumer back to reality visually, thus bringing closure to this experiment in nothingness… moving RIGHT along…): Patterns of Dots. I am not explaining this to anyone because it requires its own dissertation and, after that point, I just may get locked up in a padded room and white hurts my eyes after awhile as I am a nocturnal creature. Let it be said, I just do not like them, go away dots.